


The Hidden Dragon

by zrd1155



Series: fanfic contest between my friends [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Creepy, Goldsickness!Thorin, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sad, crazy!thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:43:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3151043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zrd1155/pseuds/zrd1155
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo had never been afraid of Thorin before... Looking at the madness behind Thorin's eyes, Bilbo remembered how much stronger the dwarf was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hidden Dragon

Before they had reached Erebor, Bilbo remembered, things were simple.  
He had grown used to a roaring fire replacing his small fireplace, to loud songs and stories filling his nights instead of books.  
He had grown used to Thorin quietly calling him away each night, to walking in silence away from their camp. Watching his back sway gently ahead of him (Thorin always led the way), seeing the small, slightly crooked smile Thorin reserved for the cold, clear nights they would spend alone.  
Thorin’s hands seemed too large to be so deft, and so gentle, but they moved like feathers over his skin. Bilbo felt as if he was trembling and awkward, unskilled and hopelessly outmatched, eternally blushing and embarrassed.  
It was hard to believe that this man could look in his eyes like they were consuming him, could beg him to stay, could moan his name.  
Looking into his eyes, as Thorin lay on the ground, no armour, unguarded, Bilbo felt his heart quicken every time. He felt a strange exhilaration, falling completely into trust, allowing himself to cling to Thorin and know he would hold him.  
He knew the safety he felt could only come from being under the protection of his King.  
Thorin only called for Bilbo once, in his days of madness.  
Bilbo walked to him over the shifting piles of gold, the heavy silence of the mountain muffling his footsteps. He saw Thorin muttering to himself, searching through the gold still for the Arkenstone.  
Thorin spoke without looking at him. “I can only trust you now, Bilbo. They have all betrayed me… They will take what I own.”

Bilbo was surprised by an instinctual fear growing inside him. Looking at Thorin’s teeth were clenched, his eyes crazed.

“Thorin, let’s go help with the gate. Come, now, you know how much building you left poor Bofer to do…” He laughed nervously as Thorin turned to him.  
Thorin’s walk had become predatory, his steps slithering across the floor. Bilbo struggled not to step back as he strode towards him; every nerve in his body screamed at him to run. 

Bilbo smiled again, trying to tease lightly. “I’ll just leave without you… goodness knows how much less a Burglar could do to help than a King.”

Thorin closed the distance and grabbed Bilbo’s arm. “You will not leave.”

It had been easy to forget how strong Thorin was; that his hands could mold metal, break an Orc’s skull. Bilbo felt as though his arm were stuck in vise.

Thorin pulled him in harshly and kissed him, his other arm curling against Bilbo’s back. He exhaled heavily against him, his breath hot, his eyes crazed.

Bilbo had never before felt afraid of Thorin; his strength, like an iron bar, crushed him.

Thorin pushed Bilbo onto a shifting pile of gold. “I need you now, Bilbo…” he muttered, his skin flushed.

Bilbo pushed against him with every ounce of strength in his body; Thorin seemed unaware of his pitiful resistance. Bilbo fell back, and felt half a sob escape him.

For a moment, Thorin seemed to return to himself. “Why are you shaking, burglar?” he asked, his voice confused, slightly penitent.  
Thorin stepped away, confused, suddenly guilty. Bilbo reflexively stepped away, fingering the ring in his pocket.  
“Please, Thorin…” Bilbo whispered, seeing Thorin’s eyes once again sad and gentle, filled with love, shocked at his own violence.  
Then once more, Bilbo watched Smaug rise up behind them.  
“Go, Burglar.” Thorin stated angrily. “GO!”

At the end, on the ice, as Thorin faded away slowly, Bilbo saw him again, as his King, bleeding, weak.  
He would dream of those moments, that there could have been a way to stop the blood, that some strange magic could have returned him to life.  
Hobbits did not hope of afterlife under the halls of Aule as dwarves did; there was no welcome of the Valar waiting for him.  
He could only dream of memories, and death, and his gentle king.


End file.
